June 17, 2010

We met at uni – the first conversation we had resulted in him insulting me. Not in a ‘damn, you’re ugly’ way; it was meant in a teasing way, but due to the subject of the comment, which is something I’m very protective of, it came across as an insult. Not a good start, but a memorable one.

His comments on subject matters were somewhat interesting. They made me think he was an arrogant, obnoxious git. But, on the opposite end of the scale, he was also lovely, on occasion. When I was having a crisis printing off some work for a deadline, he went out of his way to help out until it was sorted. Hmmm. I was having a dilemma. Here was a guy whose views were very Tory-upper class-let’s ship all the immigrants back home….and yet I was strangely attracted to him. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He annoyed me for just making me think about him.

I confided in friends about this and I was persuaded to get up off my backside and decide whether I really liked him or not, and if I did, to do something about it! Over the Christmas holidays I thought about him more often. I decided to do something about it.

How though? I’m as nervous as a mouse when it comes to asking guys out. There’s this overwhelming fear of rejection. But I asked him. And he said yes.

When I asked him, my heart was pounding in my chest. His face was one of shock – had I said something wrong? Was he thinking of the best way to turn me down? I quickly made my excuses, to save him uttering the words that would crush my hopes. As I did, he suddenly appeared to re-animate, and reassured me that actually, yes, he would like to go out with me.

I left with a spring in my step, and quite literally, a song in my heart. I felt as light as a feather.

He took me out a few days later and we had a lovely meal. He walked me home and held me tightly as I walked in stupidly high heels over the ice on the pavements. And then, when we got to my house, as the song goes, he kissed me.

We’ve been seeing each other for 5 months now, and I’ve introduced him as Occam. There are more stories about our antics to come – I hope they prove to be an exciting read!

March 11, 2010

Nearly a month later I am brave enough to go onto the Agent Provocateur website to get the pictures of my present, and almost certainly find out how much my present cost. It’s not like I want to know, but it’s a by-product of blogging about my pressie.

This is what I was bought by my lovely man:

with the matching briefs. They are incredibly sumptuous, and lovely to wear as the silk feels so soft and, well, silky against the skin. And they came perfectly gift-wrapped!

I’ve just totted up the price in my head.

*Dies*

I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I wanted to share what fabulous lingerie I’d been bought! I truly am lucky. And it just means I’ll make it up to him for peeking at the price tonight, most likely wearing this.

February 17, 2010

Long title, I know. It should actually read: How ‘New guy’ went from lust object, to fuck buddy, to friend, to me-realising-he’s-a-waste-of-my-time.

Things were going well: the sex was great, and when we were together I felt appreciated and included in his life. I had been introduced to friends, and as we worked in similar fields it was great to talk to someone who knew what i was rambling on about. Reading back on this last paragraph, all these qualities, except the ‘sex being great’ quality, identifies a friend.

As the long distance and our work prevented us spending greater periods of time apart, we relied on emails, texts and phone calls for communication. But even after a while I would go days, sometimes a week or more without hearing from him! This brought back my old feelings of insecurity and worthlessness.

Thanks to a few wonderful friends, I realised this wasn’t actually a relationship. If we met up one weekend every two months, that was just friends with benefits. There was no basis for any real emotions to be going on, and I had entered the realm of friendship (with sex) instead of an intense, passionate relationship. I cut to the chase and told him that if he wanted to continue seeing me (albeit sparsely) he should make an effort to communicate more.

I got a reply at 1am the next morning saying he didn’t get in from work until 11pm and was tired and going to bed. How else to take this? I suggested we remain friends. Which is what we’d wound our way to being in the end.

However, I was happy that we still chatted. I was grateful for his advice on how to handle office politics and just the general chit-chat. I actually thought I’d managed to do something that had previously eluded me – keep a ex as a friend. All this changed when I told him I was dating someone new. He went a bit, well….weird and made a sarcastic comment on it and proceeded to compeltely ignore me.

October 21, 2009

In a recent meeting, me and William had a massive blow-out: about the break up, about the miscarriage, the works. But afterwards, it seemed everything was all rosey again. It seemed we could talk, as friends, and the newly acquired distance between us buffered this to ensure things stayed friendly and didn’t turn nasty or, as I was trying to avoid, didn’t move into the territory of talking about ‘us’ and the possibility of us again.

But the latter occurred, and the following conversations were about how he wanted either me to visit him for a weekend, or him to come up for a weekend. My repeatedly saying ‘no’ to such an offer fell on deaf ears, until this weekend, when he said he would come up for the day, so we could get some closure.

Now, closure can be a strange thing: it means different things to different people. To William, it means us having sex, and seeing what happens. He believes that if this happens, one of two conclusions will be drawn:

That we’ll think ‘that was nice, but we’re over each other’. Or

That we’ll think ‘that was nice, let’s get back together’.

And apparently, there’s no other ‘suitable solution’ to us gaining closure.

I’m ashamed to say, it took me a while to realise what he was suggesting. Not the sex part, that was obvious. But the underlying theme to this scenario he’s described for me: that he just wants a shag. Before realising this, I suggested that talking is suitable closure. He replied, saying ‘yeah, talking can work. Do you want to come visit me?’

So, when the prospect of sex was in his head, he was willing to visit me for his ‘closure’. But now that’s off the cards, I have to travel nearly 100 miles to get closure suitable for me only.

Sod that. And now I’ve realised what he’s up to, I’ve said so. I’m not looking forward to hearing his response, but by the same token, why should I care?

October 15, 2009

Before I tell you about past adventures, I feel I need to get this off my chest:

I’m missing sex. Oh so much.

There are points during the day when I can’t concentrate on what I’m reading because my mind wanders off, and recalls what it’s like to be kissed, caressed, licked, stripped, nibbled, teased, fucked…..see? It’s happening again!

I really shouldn’t complain: if I hadn’t have broken up with William, I could still be having semi-regular sex. If things with Bass Player had been more than a fling, I could also still be having sex. But that isn’t really a good enough reason for wanting a man in my life now, is it?

When I start missing cuddles in bed, being told I look cute when I angry, being made cups of tea and breakfast, and having a man to hold my shopping bags on a Saturday, then maybe I’ll start looking properly. When I feel like I can actually love someone again, then there will be no maybe about it.

October 12, 2009

I’m going to write these tales in chronological order, so then I can mentally delete them as I write them down. Makes sense to me! So first up, we have the last time me and William ever had sex. It wasn’t pleasant, at least towards the end of our early morning session.

He had come to visit me at uni, as I was still working to try and finish my MSc, whereas he had finished his degree and had moved back home. In the morning I was frantically trying to get ready for uni, as I had a lot to do in the lab that day, and William was, typically, taking his time and occasionally getting in the way. As we stood in the house, saying our goodbyes, something happened: a tingle up my spine as he held me, and a sudden urge to just drag him to bed and have him straight away. The thought of driving to uni was pushed to the back of my mind as it was overpowered by the need to have him pressed against me.

We smashed our lips into each other, kissing frantically whilst tearing off our clothes. I pulled him with me as I moved towards the bed, and we both collapsed, him on top of me, into the soft bedding. There was no foreplay – somehow, we didn’t need it, as we just wanted it that badly.

But it turns out that we did need foreplay: as William withdrew after our respective orgasms, a pool of blood formed on my duvet. William had torn his foreskin.

He had done this before, so this surprised me that it had happened again – surely it had hurt and he would have stopped? Apparently it did hurt, but that wasn’t enough to stop him.

It came to light in a later conversation between the two of us, after we had split up, that he knew we weren’t doing too well, but he was willing to do anything to try and make it better. Which is sweet, in a way. But is a relationship really worth spilling blood over, when you know that it’s effectively ended?

October 12, 2009

I moved into my own flat – the first time I’ve ever lived entirely on my own. But guess what? Loving that too.

And Men. Yes, with a capital M, so you can realise just how much of an impact Men have had on my life for the past two months.

I will return with stories of sessions with William (both whilst we were together and issues arisen recently), the Bass Player fling that turned ugly, and how an old flame has re-entered my life (and probably not the one you think!).